in the spheres of its
operation. The sense of humour is in its essence, as we have often been
told, largely a sense of proportion, and in this sense Crabbe was
certainly deficient. The want of it accounts for much more in his
writings than for his prose notes and prefaces. It explains much of the
diffuseness and formlessness of his poetry, and his inability to grasp
the great truth how much the half may be greater than the whole.

In spite, however, of these defects, and of the inequalities of the
workmanship, _The Borough_ was from the first a success. The poem
appeared in February 1810, and went through six editions in the next six
years. It does not indeed present an alluring picture of life in the
provinces. It even reminds us of a saying of Tennyson's, that if God
made the country, and man made the city, then it was the devil who made
the country-town. To travel through the borough from end to end is to
pass through much ignoble scenery, human and other, and under a cloudy
heaven, with only rare gleams of sunshine, and patches of blue sky.
These, when they occur, are proportionally welcome. They include some
exquisite descriptions of nature, though with Crabbe it will be noticed
that it is always the nature close about his feet, the hedge-row, the
meadow, the cottage-garden: as his son has noted, his outlook never
extends to the landscape beyond.

In the respects just mentioned, the qualities exhibited in the new poem
have been noticed before in _The Village_ and _The Parish Register_. In
_The Borough_, however, appear some maturer specimens of this power,
showing how Crabbe's art was perfecting by practice. Very noticeable are
the sections devoted to the almshouse of the borough and its
inhabitants. Its founder, an eccentric and philanthropic merchant of
the place, as well as the tenants of the almshouse whose descriptions
follow, are all avowedly, like most other characters in Crabbe, drawn
from life. The pious founder, being left without wife or children, lives
in apparent penury, but while driving all beggars from his door, devotes
his wealth to secret acts of helpfulness to all his poorer neighbours in
distress:--

"A twofold taste he had; to give and spare,
Both were his duties, and had equal care;
It was his joy to sit alone and fast,
Then send a widow and her boys repast:
Tears in his eyes would, spite of him, appear,
But he from other eyes has kept the tear:
All in a wintry night from fa